Riddle School
by MerylJeilian
Summary: Follow Phil Eggtree and his rough sailing through life! Which means: puberty, friendships, awkward half-crushes, aliens, brainwashing, gradual instability and maturity. Eventually. Normalcy told in the eyes of sarcasm.
1. There's a first time for everything

**_Notes: Oh yes, I did this. For funsies. Feel free to bug me if I don't update within the week. My main goal in this is to try my hand at developing actual friendships, and since these characters are pretty simple, plus incredibly easy to give those little qualities that make people be people, well then._**

 ** _Estimated ages are 10-11._**

 ** _Consider this chapter an introductory chapter, and yes, I'm starting from the beginning: immature snarky-brat Phil go!_**

 ** _Other notes: Unbeta'd, actual game owned by Jonochrome (ex: JonBro)_**

* * *

I just want to make this clear: I don't have anything against my school. I also don't have anything against Smiley, either, even though I did make fun of her.

That doesn't stop me from wanting to get out of here, though.

Mr. Kahm was twirling his pointer again, for some reason thinking that it made him look smart. I'd know since he told me at the beginning of this...class. If you could even call it that.

"What's 132 + 64?"

"I don't know, Mr. Kahm," I answered flatly, "What is 132 + 64?"

"That's why I'm asking you," Mr. Kahm said, eyes wide, "I dunno."

I stared at him. Mr. Kahm stared back, then coughed awkwardly and started to pick up a piece of chalk to write on the board. Or, draw on the board, because apparently addition was too hard for him.

"I am leaving," I thought, "I am leaving, and I'm not coming back until I absolutely have to."

Or until my parents catch wind and punt me back here. One of the two.

Mr. Kahm started twirling his pointer again, and I looked down at my forever unused pencil and asked, "Mr. Kahm? Can I sharpen my pencil?"

"Only one at a time!"

And I walked up to the desk's pencil sharpener, then turned right on my heel to face the door and walked out.

Resist urge to make pun. Resist urge to make pun.

"Now _that_ was sharp."

That was one of the worst puns I've ever made.

Shaking off the immediate self-loathing that came whenever I made a particularly cringey pun, I walked down the halls. I passed the drinking fountain, taking a sip while I was there, then looked up to see Mrs. Cophey's class door.

I peeked inside, and looking in, I saw my regular classmates along with my friend.

In the first row next to the empty seat that used to be mine, was Smiley. Well, her real name was Shirley, but a lot of us called her Smiley. Cause she smiled a lot.

Trust me, this is an odd phenomenon. There are very few people in school who smile here. I'd ask her how she does it, but I really can't go into the room right now.

Behind her was Zack, shivering and holding himself like usual. Wonder why he doesn't wear more than one sweater. It's make him warmer, surely. He was curling in on himself, practically a bal in his seat, shivering miserably. I kind of wanted to offer him a blanket, if I had one. He just looked really sad.

And then there's Phred. The only guy who's more bored than I am and really, really doesn't like his name. He should be happy, I think, since it makes him stand out.

He'd given me a really flat look when I said that, so the thought wasn't appreciated.

Phred was practically half-asleep on his desk, not really listening, as per usual.

He sits behind me, so he usually doesn't get caught, but since I'm not there he has to put in effort to look awake.

He was glaring at my empty desk.

I marveled. And we were somehow best friends.

Mrs. Cophey spat out gibberish at a hundred miles per second, again, most likely because of the coffee in her hand, and I spotted Smiley picking up a pencil and taking notes. Somehow.

How she understood what the teacher said was beyond...anyone in the school, even Mrs. cophey.

Speaking of, Mrs. Cophey was trying to write on the board now, which was useless, because her writing was worse than Phred's, and _his_ looked like chicken scratch at the best of times.

Quietly, I opened the door and knew that the students all spotted me. But Mrs. Cophey didn't, and that was what mattered. I could feel Phred raising his eyebrows at me when I went straight behind the desk, crouching under it. I tried to remember if I left anything useful in my desk, and while I was doing that, Mrs. Cophey turned back around, "Alright students, partner up."

Smiley tilted her head at me, and I looked to my left to not look at her, and saw a dustbin. Looking in, I saw a feather duster. Nice.

I took it, flicking Phred a short wave when he started glaring at me.

 _If you don't take me with you I'm stealing your lunch tomorrow_ , his look said.

I ignored him, and looked over to Zack. He was hunching over his desk, shivering badly. He should really get a new sweater.

There wasn't anything useful here, so I sneaked out of the classroom, feather duster in hand.

Outside, I looked at the handle and tried to think of anyone in the entire school who'd bring use a feather duster.

...Oh. Well. I went straight to the janitor's closet.

"What are you doing here?!" the janitor screeched the second he saw me. I held up the feather duster as a sacrifice.

"...Oh," the janitor immediately deflated, "You found my feather duster! Here, have a nickel. And don't waste it on the school's cheesy pencils."

I caught the coin, nodding dumbly in the face of this man who could switch between mad, happy, then snarky within the expanse of five sentences.

"…Now get out of my closet," the janitor finished flatly.

I nodded again, then slowly slid out of the closet. Closing the door behind me, I vowed to never talk to strange men ever again.

Well, at least I got money.

"hey."

I looked up, pocketing the nickel. A boy the same age as me, except with blonde hair, held out his hand in a matter-of-factly sort of way, "Where's your hallpass?"

"…I don't have one."

"No hallpass, no hall."

At which point I found myself being pushed back to the end of the hall.

What…the _flozwad_?

Where was I supposed to get a hallpass?

I looked at Mr. Kahm's door, found out I'd rather jump out a window, then started walking forward, looking over lockers and vents to see if:

An unlocked one.

I smiled.

And hello, a hallpass. I flicked the water fountain nobody ever uses open, like most of us do because nobody trusts the water here, as I passed, then smugly showed the hall monitor the pass.

He glared at me, but buggered off soon enough.

Awesome.

Grinning, I pocketed the hallpass along with the nickel and soldiered on.

Operation: Escape School was off to a start!

* * *

...Check that, it _will_ be off to a start. Soon-ish.

Chubb stared back when I stared back at him.

He blinked sluggishly, like all the fat in his eyelids were too heavy to blink without manual support, then groaned out, "I want a cookie."

I took a step.

Chubb twitched in place.

I flinched.

I heard he once ate an entire refrigerator. Last time I checked, I was much smaller than a refrigerator.

Chubb groaned and sort of…rolled like a ball onto his side, and I inched around him before dashing towards the safety of the cafeteria. Relative safety.

It was gross in there.

Greg, the least hungry and most rested kid in the entire school, was still in his eternal spot on one of the benches. No one really knew how he hadn't died from lack of sustenance, but Zack had frozen flames solid once and no one had really thought much of it.

On the far side of the cafeteria, right beside the forever-broken cookie machine, was that splash of yogurt that Phred had stepped on _months_ ago. Eugh.

Wrinkling my nose, I looked over to the wall above Greg's table and grinned. Ah, the school-famous Smiley Smudge.

It was how I got into my special class. I made fun of Smiley, with mustard.

(Don't really know why, since she found it kind of funny. At least I think she did. She was smiling….like she does perpetually.)

Across the room, the counter was unmanned. I guess Mrs. Munch was out today.

Like she usually was.

There was a blueprint to show us all what the cafeteria looked like without aged stains on the walls, but nobody really looked at it to cope with the situation. Last time someone did, Mrs. Sleep collapsed and the janitor started wailing.

Weird times. Then again all adults are weird.

I leaned to the side, trying to see if someone dropped something important under the table. Again. That happened a lot, actually. Someone drops and/or loses something and the first place anyone goes to is under the cafeteria table.

I saw a picture, a roll of toilet paper, a vent cover, a few bottles, and nothing useful.

Well, I wasn't hoping too much for that one anyway.

Straitening, I looked around one more time before spotting something green at the base of the broken cookie machine. I crouched down, picked it up, and saw it was a dollar. Saw that a cookie cost a dollar. Saw my reflection on the shiny surface smirk when an idea came to me.

I went back out the hallway and made my way to the front of the Teacher's office, where Chubb was still lying against. I handed him all the coins I'd collected, roughly amounting to a dollar, "Take the dollar, fatty."

And snatched my hand away before he could eat that too. The coins fell to the ground with several noisy chimes, rolling across the tile floors that are never cleaned.

He landed on the floor like a heap of lard. If lard could move. I opened the door and blinked at the….'Box Office'. It was a room covered from wall to wall in cardboard box and had closed boxes as tables. Punny.

A teacher, one I hadn't seen before, frowned when she saw me, "What're _you_ doing here?"

"Uh," I stammered, "I want to see the Principal."

"And _why_ would you even need to do that?" she asked.

"…I want to tell a joke?"

"Oh!" she beamed, "Jokes are always fun! Go on right in!"

…That was easier than I thought it would be.

I shrugged and trudged inside, finding the Principal asleep on his desk. It was huge. _He_ was huge.

I'd get slammed flat within seconds if he woke up!

Tiptoeing across the carpet, I slowly made my way to the table. Spy-style. With my back to the table, I inched around the sides until I saw the gleam of sweet, sweet freedom.

And then the principal woke up.

I blanched.

Ran outside, tossing a thanks to the teacher in the box office and almost screaming when I heard the principal start yelling.

Gotta get out gotta get out gotta get—

I jammed the key inside the lock and jumped outside—

* * *

 _"Morning, Eggtree," Phred greeted, raising an arm in a sloppy imitation of a wave._

 _I waved back, walking further inside the room._

 _"You see it?" I asked, grinning. I didn't do it often, but this warranted one I'd think. Phred snorted, "You got her eyes wrong."_

 _"So what?"_

 _"That wasn't all that funny," Zack replied from somewhere outside my general vision, voice sounding absolutely disapproving._

 _"Shame that your opinion doesn't matter anymore, no?" Phred sighed out, "You're gonna get in trouble, Phil. Don't expect me to bust your butt out this time."_

 _"It's fine. It's not like the walls don't already have—"_

 _"The principal is requesting Phil Eggtree to come to the box office, please," a voice crackled out from the intercom, sounding bored and probably half-asleep._

 _Phred smirked triumphantly when I winced._

 _"Good job breaking it, hero," he snickered as I trudged out the room, passing Smiley on the way in. She wasn't smiling._

* * *

 ** _And that's that. There will be actual content next chapter, I swear._**


	2. Candy makes things better

_**Short one, this time. Something of an in-between missing scene.**_

* * *

Chapter 2;

"Hey Phil," Smiley beamed, as per usual.

"HI," I returned, slumping into my desk. I saw Smiley tilt her head to the side in that way she usually did when she wasn't getting something. It didn't happen often, but she did do it sometimes. A good two, three times per half a year, maybe.

"What?" I grunted out, digging out a notebook and a pencil from my backpack. Pretty much the only thing I ever bring to school and mostly filled with doodles. I started doodling and only looked at Smiley once I managed a pretty decent stickman. I'll name him Henry.

Smiley didn't grin, and that was usually Code 4 in the general classroom rules: Something is wrong, somebody fix this.

"Sorry for getting you in trouble," she said, voice really small and meek. My pencil stopped, and I looked at her.

Smiley wasn't looking at me anymore, because she was sitting straight on her chair facing the board. The door creaked open – someone should oil those, that works, right? – and the teacher walked in.

Smiley didn't light up like she usually did, and she kept twiddling with her fingers. Something weird was twisting around in my stomach, kind of stretching up into my chest. Heartburn? Was this heartburn?

What did I eat?

The first subject lesson passed, Smiley's fidgeting got worse. It was only three hours later did I actually realize what it was: guilt.

Which was stupid, cause she _did_ get me in trouble, right?

…okay, willful ignorance wasn't working. How to fix this, oh Google?

I didn't really want to do this, but. I sighed, tore out a corner of my doodle pad and wrote down the least gross-sounding apology I could do and passed it to her desk when the teacher wasn't looking.

I could hear the paper cracking noisily when she opened it, and for once, I kept my eyes completely on the board. This was gonna be fine. This was gonna be _fine—_

Someone poked my arm, and I looked down to see my note crumpled over something small and round.

I opened it and out dropped some hard candy, along with a simple smiley on the note with bright, orange ink at the end of a ' _if you got my eyes right I would've found it funnier._ '

I tried to pry the candy out from the wrapper as quietly as possible while the teacher was writing on the board, and popped it into my mouth. Hm, lemon-flavor.

I turned my head to see Smiley do the same, and she grinned.

(And for a second, her smile faded, and she was older and taller and she was on the _floor,_

 _there was blood_

 _there was_ _ **blood**_

 _where was the_ _ **teacher**_ —

… _Smiles?_ )

I smiled back, and ignored the slight churning in my stomach.

Had to be heartburn. Had to be.


	3. Going out with a bang

**_Thank you to all who have reviewed, viewed, fav'ed and followed this :D_**

 ** _And why, yes, hello, you've now stumbled onto the first stirrings of a plot._**

 ** _I'm warning you now: gore, and eventual canon divergence. No, not this chapter. Eventually :3_**

* * *

Elementary graduation came and went. And by came and went I mean that Zack nearly froze everyone to death this morning, Phred didn't bother to show up in the first place (traitor), Smiley had a half-hour long speech in front and I somehow got myself on the honor's roles.

The heck?

Actually, I was _second to Smiley,_ and if that isn't a miracle what is?

Zack and I were sitting on the front row, because Zack was third and was beside my second-place chair, and he was shivering so hard I was slightly tempted to leave my seat and get him a blanket or something.

"You gonna make it?" I asked him when he sneezed and icicles rained down from his nose. He nodded. Or I think he nodded. His head moved up and down?

There was a loud round of applause drowning out whatever reply Zack could've said to me, Smiley clapping on stage. Zack curled further into his seat, "W-When is this gonna end?"

"I don't know," I sighed out.

Smiley finished her speech and she returned to see my half-mummified corpse in a chair next to her's. She giggled when she saw my journey to death via boredom, and sat down primly on her seat, swinging her legs, "Where's Phred?" she asked, voice practically beaming at me. I groaned, "He said he was gonna get his diploma mailed to him instead."

"Is he sick?" Smiley asked me, bringing a hand up to her mouth. I snorted, "He just didn't want to come."

"…Oh," Smiley's grin faltered a bit. I didn't notice. Of course not.

"So, how's it like being first?" I smiled at her. At this point, Zack decided to chip in, "Careful, you might give her a-an ego."

Smiley threw her head back and laughed, loud and free like she always did. Zack smiled at her and said, "S-see? Ego."

"Worst friends," I quipped, "You chose the worst friends."

She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling, so I guess she wasn't too mad. I could hear my name being called to the stage, and Zack gave me a pat on the back –

(" _Please don't push me—!_ ")

and I walked up to the stage.

Mr. Principal, whose name I never bothered to remember, tried to pull his mouth into something that _looked_ like a smile, and handed out my diploma.

"Congratulations," and his skin was red, with his arms holding out that slip of paper I've been working for the past years, and other pair holding out a medal.

I smiled back at him, more out of politeness than anything.

I couldn't see his eyes, they were too black, and he led me to the podium and—

" _Oh no, Mr. Soggy's glasses fell off._ "

Smiley was at the podium again, and I could see it happening. She tripped at the edge of the stage and

She

(" _I should help him._ ")

Landed, on the fl—

(" _Changing their clothes may yield different results._ ")

-oor and looked

(there was blood there was **blood** )

Up. At me. Her jeans were stained red and I tried to stand, because it was—

Quiet. Too quiet. Where was the _teacher?_

Why wasn't anyone trying to help?

 _(Headlines, headlines. Girl dies in Riddle Elementary.)_

Zack gripped at my hand and I felt ice numb any sense of feeling I had, and saw black at the edge of my eyes.

"You should go to sleep," Zack said, grinning at me. His four arms took mine and—

Smiley grinned at me, "Go. It's your turn."

I stared at her, "...What?"

"Your turn," she said again, waving towards the stage where the principal stood, a huge guy who always used really ugly sweaters. I blinked, once, then nodded before hopping off my chair and getting to the stage.

My hand twitched, feeling it go numb when I shook the principal's hand. He smiled down at me and told me to go back to my seat as soon as possible. Zack was next, and he brushed me as he passed.

And...nothing. I rubbed at my palms and wondered when the ceremony would end.

* * *

 _ **Not gonna lie, I'm half tempted to go into my usual dark-fiction levels, but it just wouldn't work here. Not yet, anyways.**_

 _ **(Not like my Stickmin fic anyways.)**_


	4. Split

_**Still giving a thanks to everyone still with this story :3**_

* * *

"Alright, you ready for this?" Phred asked me, cracking his head to the side.

I nodded resolutely, pulling my backpack over my shoulders firmly.

Phred set his jaw, "Let's _do_ this."

"It's middle s-school, guys," Zack sighed, pulling out a jacket from his slingbag, "It's not _that_ big a deal."

I twitched, and shuffled back a few steps.

"Shut up," Phred said without missing a beat, still staring at the entrance and probably not noticing my really bad attempts of subtly avoiding Zack, "Greens shouldn't talk."

"This isn't the m-military."

"We'll be surrounded by enemies on all fronts," Phred said, ignoring Zack and marching up to the double doors leading to the middle school area of the Riddle's School giant educational compound, "Don't lose your fight. Or if you do, do it awesomely. Go out in a blaze of glory."

There was a short pause before, "That's gotta be the most energy-filled thing you've done to date," I grinned. Phred shot me a pair of finger guns and leaned on the doors.

"I'm surrounded by i-idiots," Zack grumbled, pushing past Phred at the door, only to come face to face with Smiley when she swung it open. Phred, leaning on it, fell face-first onto the floor.

Smiley didn't even bat an eyelash, "Morning guys," she chirped.

"Why," Phred murmured into the cement floor. Ew.

I waved back and stepped over Phred's unmoving self, trying not to touch Zack on the way.

"Think we should pick him up?" Zack asked, taking a stick and poking at Phred's side. Phred responded with a light snore.

"Leave him," I said, already making my way down the hall, "He's grown, he can take care of himself."

"Worst best friend ever," Phred shot at my back, but I could see…Smiley helping him up, so he'd be fine. Sorry, Phred. I just need to leave. Before...them. Him. Either. Catch up.

(" _Phil?_ ")

Damn.

"Phil?"

A hand touched my shoulder and I spun around, one armed raised to see—

Crap. Smiley. Who was gaping at me. I let my arm drop, feeling my entire face go red, "I—"

Zack walked up behind her, locking eyes with me. He smiled.

I looked to the side, "Sorry. Had a bad night," I explained, knowing I sounded like a lousy liar. Phred certainly didn't buy it, and Smiley had that face where she knew something was wrong.

Zack had the exact same smile on his face.

"…We should go," I tried to smile. Didn't work, not when Smiley was looking at me like I was going to colla—

" _I have to kill them._ "

…Collapse. I closed my eyes, bringing a shaking hand up to rub at my temples.

"…I think," Smiley started, "That you need to go to the nurse."

"I'm fine, Smiles," I replied, tired.

Phred gave a snort of disbelief, "You look like you're dying on your feet. Smiles, Zacky, you guys go and attend class like the good students you are. I'll look after Philly here."

Smiley gave me this look, one I haven't ever seen all the years I've known her. She opened her mouth, like she was about to say something, but instead she gave me this reassuring half-grin and reached up with a hand to pet my cheek.

I jerked back, Zack cackled, and Smiley's eyes creased with mirth, "Get better soon," she chirped, like everything was _normal,_ and walked away with a snickering Zack in tow. Momentarily forgetting my internal promise to avoid him, I lashed out with an arm to pinch his and he yelped in a distinctly unmanly fashion.

 _"I have to kill them."_

He glared at me. I didn't bother responding. There was a ringing in my ears too loud for me to really register much. I had to concentrate just to _hear_ Phred. Speaking of.

Phred was slow-clapping to the side, "Real sweet, Philly. You're a natural casanova."

"I thought you were going to look after me not sass out my every action,"I grumbled, leaning against a locker. I could see Phred shrug at the corner of my eye, but.

I felt my legs buckle under me, and I slid down to the floor.

My vision blurred, Phred barely anything more than a dark brown blob, whatever he was shouting was .Statii _iii—_

My eyes flew open and I saw a white tiled ceiling. I was lying down, maybe?

"Subject # 5565 is waking up, sir!"

Static, like a busted television screen.

"Sir, Subjects 1835 and 6267 are showing unusual signs. We think they're starting to wake too!"

Was everything always so huge?

"Stop yelling at each other and _fix this_!"

Where am I, I'm not supposed to be here, whataboutmy—

Something gurgled out, warm and red, and it dripped down my chin.

A door opened, somewhere, creaking on its hinges and rapid footsteps approached me. Me, helpless and half-dead on a bed (?)

I could do this. I'd be fine. But what about my—

"Drink this, Egghead," someone muttered I broken English, and the best I could see was something blue. A shirt?

"You'll be out of here, don't worry," and I flinched when something pierced the skin of my upper arm, "I'll make sure you'll be fine."

"What?" I grumbled, my hands twitching t my sides. The white tiled ceiling didn't offer a response, but I heard feminine laughter somewhere out of sight.

My hand twitched, and something blue faded in and out of my sight, "I said, Mr. Eggtree," someone female said, holding my hand, "That you seemed to have a bit of a dizzy episode out in the halls today."

And then the blue shirt of the nurse swam into view. I blinked blearily, turning my head to the side and seeing my…friends, all three of them, sitting over at the wall. Smiley was sleeping against the wall, Phred was half-way off the bench, and Zack was…awake. Smiling, at me.

He was looking straight at me, sitting nice and relaxed on the bench.

My mouth felt dry.

"You should be able to go to band class," the nurse continued on, prattling in the background while Zack continued to smile.

"Don't worry," the nurse said, "You'll be fine."

(" _You'll be fine._ ")

There weren't a lot of things to do in band class, later, when I finally got up, but it was _suffocating._

I needed out. And as I looked around the room, I brought a hand up and rubbed at the rash beginning to form at my upper arm.

* * *

 _ **I had to delete two chapters just to get this one. Shame. I really liked those.**_

 _ **Also, canon divergence. She is here.**_


	5. If you don't succeed the first time

**_Are these chapters getting longer? Huh._**

 ** _(And I've been thinking if I should pair off Phil and Smiley much earlier than in canon, and since I've already diverged from the storyline, I may as well.)_**

* * *

Escaping school was easy enough. It was bound to be, I'd done it before. The principal didn't even twitch when I took the key.

Except this time, Smiley was blocking my way.

She was leaning against the door, eyes looking at me with what could only be disappointment.

"Smiles," I said, tiredly, groggy, "Move out of the way. Please."

"You're going to fail at this rate, Phil," she said, straightening. She was frowning at me, and my head pounded.

"Look," I snipped, "I'm not you, okay? I don't like it here. I _hate_ it here. Now get out of the way."

"No," she said, planting her feet firmly on the ground.

And maybe, I could've done this gentler, handled this better, but what was done was done, and all I saw was red, something _burning_ through my veins, " _Get. Out. Of my. Way, Sundae._ "

And looking back, I was surprised by the venom in my own voice, like I was hearing some character on a television screen instead of knowing that it was me who snapped at a friend who was only trying to look out for me. But.

Smiley flinched, and whatever anger I previously had disappeared when I saw the water shining on her eyes. It hit me then, like a soccer ball to the stomach, what I'd done. Not entirely, but still.

We stood there for a bit, nothing but uneasy silence between us, before:

"Take care of yourself, Phil," she murmured to me, and walked away back to her classroom.

My stomach churned, and I couldn't even try to face Smiley as she went passed me in fear that I'd throw up my breakfast, but I put the key in the lock and turned it.

No turning back now.

Stepping out, expecting grass under my feet and sunlight hitting my face, I was faced with the foor walls of a classroom with instruments lying about, students gathering their own and settling into position.

I made my way to my spot behind Smiley and sat down on the floor next to my trumpet.

My hands clenched into fists.

"Phil, Philly," Phred asked me, standing beside me, as usual, looking surprised. Which was, for him, two slightly raised eyebrows, "Didn't think you'd show up."

"I didn't either," and I stared straight ahead, right at Mr. O. Boe's passable English on the board. Smiley, sitting in front of me with her xylophone, lit up when she saw me, waving excitably. I threw an arm up with a flop as an emulation of a wave, and Smiley, good friend that she was, didn't comment on it.

"Bet you didn't think it'd b-be like this, huh?" Zack said mildly, over at the drum set. My jaw twitched.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I hissed, and Phred jumped to his feet.

"Holy shit, what the hell did they feed you, man?" Phred asked, half-sarcastic, mostly-concerned, and put a hand on my shoulder. Smiley's brows furrowed and Zack was starting to inch towards Mr. O. Boe.

Speaking of. Mr. O. Boe marched up to me and frowned, "I don't think you're in any state of mind to do anything educational, Mr. Eggtree."

"I don't I even _have_ a state of mind anymore," I laughed, and this time Phred looked… _scared._ He grimaced in a way that made his entire face pull downwards.

"Phil. We need to get you checked, Phil. Okay?" he said, eyes darting around my face.

I wanted to scratch at the rash on my arm, but I held it back, just like I held back whatever I was about to say to Phred. Gurgle. Warm and red, dripping down my chin.

Phred cursed, actually cursed, and Smiley gave a panicked squeal before flipping out her phone and dialing…something.

Fuck. I'd bitten down on my lip too hard, and Mr. O. Boe was leaning in front of me, hands on my shoulders.

"Son," he called me, because he called every boy in school that, "Look at me."

And I am. I am, "I am," I answered, blinking once and seeing the world spin in front of me.

No no no no—

"Phil?" Smiley. Smiley was trying to talk to me. Phred's voice filtered in too, "Eggtree!"

Static. Static. One two three. On two three. Onetwo—

"Slow breaths," Smiley was saying, and I tried to grab onto the sound of her voice, "Slow breaths. One. Two."

Three. Fourfivesixseve—

"Too fast, Philly," Phred , and he was behind me, hands on both my shoulders, "Take it slow."

"two," Smiley continued.

Eightnine—

"Phil," Zack this time. Zack, not red, two arms. Only two arms.

Safe.

"You're safe," Mr. O. Boe was saying, "You're good, son. You're good."

"I'm—," I gasped out.

"Good. You're fine. It's fine," Smiley, this time.

"Nothing's happening, Philly," Phred, now, standing behind Smiley, face twisted and something glowing on his face.

Zack was standing at the back, curled up into a ball as he shivered violently next to the drum set. His fingers were scraping at his skin, turning it red, a glaring contrast from his pale, almost blue skin.

He was scared. I realized. I also felt something like _satisfaction,_ and immediately replaced it with disgust. I felt sick. Mr. O. Boe, gripped at my shoulders harder and said, "We're taking you back to the nurse's office again, alright, son?"

I shook my head as hard as possible.

"Alright," Mr. O. Boe said, and he was _calm,_ "How about we get you home? Does that sound good?"

And it did.

"It does," and my voice sounded exhausted even to my own ears. Mr. O. Boe nodded once before, taking my arm and leading me to the front of the school.

I knew what would happen next, though.

We walked through the doors and found ourselves back in the classroom. Mr. O. Boe didn't even twitch, and instead went back to the front of the class like nothing ever happened.

Zack was crouching beside Smiley this time, and he was barely holding on to his stick.

My eyes drooped.

Dammit, I was too tired for this shit.

Placing an arm on the music stand, my head dropped. Consequently, so did the rest of myself and I landed on the floor in a heap. Phred cackled at my pain until I started glaring daggers at him. He raised his arms I surrender and said, "Want some help?"

"The only help I want is to escape from this goddamn place," I grumbled, getting up. Phred hummed, "Well I've got a whistle I can give you. If you pay me."

I rolled my eyes, "Do I have to?"

"Do you want to get out?"

I sighed, "Give me a minute."

Four quarters, a really loud whistle, and several micro-adventures later, I was holding the key again, trudging towards the door. I wasn't really sure why I was doing this, not when I was sure that all I was doing would just land me back in the classroom.

I put the key into the hole and walked out to see grass, road, sky, _freedom._

I blinked, once, then twice, then calmly pocketed the key before collapsing to my knees and going, "FINALLY!"

* * *

He let out a long, long breath, "Brain waves are stabilized, sir."

"Good. You're still useful yet, Quiz," the low, smooth voice of his boss echoed through the relatively empty lab, "Now, erase his memory of the lapse."

Quiz frowned, "That'll damage his mind further, sir. It would be better if—"

"Erase his memories," his boss cut him off, in that same, drawling voice that told him he wasn't interested in whatever scientific jargon he'd spit out, "The other children too, to be safe."

And then he walked out, his red arms laced behind his back. Quiz repressed a curse at the other…man, mostly because they both knew who was more powerful between them.

"Don't fret, my friend," and a hand on his shoulder, and Quiz turns his head to see a familiar, friendly green face, "Let me take care of the memory alterations. It would be best if you go and check on their state of minds instead."

"Thank you, Diz," he murmured, nodding courteously at him before walking off.

 _Initializing…_

 _Connection established._

 _Subject #1835:_

 ** _Shirley "Smiley" Sundae_**

* * *

 ** _Next Chapter: A switch in views, featuring Smiley_**


	6. Deteriorate, my Pollyanna

**_Thank you very much for every single view, fav and follow! Especially reviews, as those are one of the things that tell me I'm doing something right, lol._**

* * *

She felt, sometimes, that she didn't feel quite in sync with the rest of the world.

Shirley, or Smiley as she was commonly called, wrung her hands in her lap and tried to breath.

Phil escaped. Again. She swallowed the lump building up in her throat when she remembered the poison he'd thrown at her through words, but she found she couldn't blame him. She saw his bloodshot eyes, the bags underneath them. Saw him slowly falling apart as the day went on.

Smiley knew that he was having the dreams too. Knew that he was seeing lives of themselves, knew he was experiencing the same glitches in reality as she was.

( _She could remember Phred mumbling under his breath about dying in a lava pit._ _Zack shivering from something that wasn't the cold whenever he passed a cage._ )

Or at least she thought he did. Smiley wasn't all that sure. She wasn't an expert. She never had been.

She loved school, always did. Always wanted to learn and read and never having the sheer talent her own friends had. She should have been sad about that, she supposed while Mr. O. Boe started the lecture on music in front, that was how it always went in her novels.

But she was no character, and was, instead, glad to see that, even if her friends would probably never love school as much as she did, that they did have _something_ they loved to do, and that was enough for her.

It really was.

Smiley looked at her reflection on the xylophone in front of her, looking down at her pale, yellow-ish skin, brown hair cropped close to her skull (so close a lot of people thought she was a boy a lot of the time), her usual orange top and plain black jeans.

Normal.

( _One morning she wasn't, she was taller and had longer hair and had been a woman when she looked in the mirror. She'd screamed and passed out on the floor, where her parents found her minutes later._ )

Smiley closed her eyes and started to lock in on Mr. O. Boe's voice.

She should stop letting her mind wander, her grades in music were in the red already, she didn't need to make them worse. So she clenched her hand harder around her…xylophone stick, was what it was called, maybe, and tried to concentrate.

( _She hated distractions. She was so easily taken by them_ )

A light snore, and Phred shot up from his music stand to pretend he was listening. Everyone knew he wasn't, but the teachers appreciated the effort anyway.

Smiley shot him a smile, which he returned with his own, more reserved one with a flop of his hand. It was a wave, probably.

Phred sat down heavily on the floor, scooting over to sit between her and Zack. He nodded towards Phil's empty music stand, "You reckon he got out?"

"I don't doubt that," Smiley hummed, hitting a note experimentally, and trying to forget the sheer venom the absent boy had thrown at her face, "Phil is smart."

"You're smart too," Phred said, and she bit at her lower lip, "…thanks, Phredrick."

His entire face cringed into itself, and he leaned so far away from her he almost fell on top of Zack's xylophone. She smirked.

"God, don't call me that," he half-pouted at her, and Smiley curled her lips upwards, "Okay."

Zack, finally fed up with Phred blocking his xylophone, shoved the other boy away and gave Phred a flat stare when he began to (lazily) do a dramatic rendition of what could have been a natural response to pain.

"Ow," Phred said, lying face first on the floor, "Zack. You hurt me. How could you," he punctuated with a monotonous tone that had Smiley cackling into her hand.

Mr. O. Boe, well aware that his students weren't listening, shook his head before continuing with the lecture.

Zack looked tempted to throw his stick at Phred's head, and seeing this, Smiley reached across and touched Zack's arm, who pursed his lips at her semi-disapproving look.

"You'll have to pay for his hospital bills," she pointed out, and Zack immediately deemed Phred as 'not worth it'.

Phred, for his part, lay on his side, posing in a way so half-assed it was an art, looking at the window.

"So, anyone ever go to sleep to wake up?"

"Did you forget to take y-your meds?" Zack asked, lightly hitting Phred's foot when it shifted into his general area.

"I think you've been reading too many Smith tweets again," she offered, earning a snort from Zack and a mild glare from Phred. Then she turned to face Phred, looking at him straight in the eye. She smiled.

Phred very deliberately held her gaze.

"I'm serious," Phred insisted, rolling over to cover both Smiley and Zack's xylophones, "I keep waking up and seeing this blue alien dude."

"Really?" Smiley asked, her tone of voice nice and light and carefree, "Mine is green."

"Red for me, actually, " Zack frowned, using his foot to roll Phred off his instrument. It wasn't working, "Are yours k-kinda…Martian looking? Lots of arms?"

"Mine was a fat guy with four arms," Phred offered, rolling off before Zack got pissed off enough to actually hit him, consequently breaking eye contact with Smiley.

Smiley hummed, "Mine was more…stereotypical alien. Green. Black eyes. Two arms."

"You must have a shitty imagination," Phred quipped, at which point Smiley grinned, "No. Just normal."

 _Unlike some people._

Zack coughed in an attempt to hide his cackling, failing miserably.

Phred gasped, trying to emulate someone who could have been offended.

"For _shame,_ Sundae," Phred sniffed, "To think you'd use such hurtful words."

"Oh god," Zack groaned, "Someone b-bring Phil back. I'm not rested enough to deal w-with your bull 24/7."

"Phredrick Jones Whistler," Mr. Boe snapped, settling his chalk down on his desk with more force than necessary, "Sit _down._ "

Phred winced, then sat down beside Smiley and Zack once more. Both turned away and tried to snicker into their sleeves instead.

"I have the worst friends, Mr. O. Boe," Phred drawled, "Can I transfer rooms?"

"No," Mr. O. Boe, probably thinking he was too old for their shit, replied flatly and turned back to the board to continue writing a…song. Yeah, a song.

Smiley pet Phred's shoulder in mock sympathy, at which he just rolled his eyes and pulled out his whistle from his pocket. Zack shook his head, "Even the teachers know you'll be too lazy to ever learn how to use a real instrument."

"Shut up," Phred quipped.

Smiley started to tune out the boys' good natured banter, settling further into her seat and looking down.

She didn't even bat an eyelash at the green face staring back at her from the shiny surface of the keys, merely striking one of the keys and letting the image ripple away with the sound.

She smiled.

And after class was done, waving her friends goodbye, she spotted green at the corner of her eye, pure, black eyes and a tall gangly frame. She didn't turn her head, didn't even acknowledge the presence.

Smiley turned the corner, seeing her house down a few blocks away.

"Excuse me," a deep, familiar voice stopped her. Smiley tensed, the grip on the straps of her backpack tightening.

"Ms. Sundae? Ms. Sundae, are you alright?"

Oh. She remembered now. Smiley turned and beamed at the rotund man behind her, who returned the gesture with a milder version of her cheer.

Mr. Munch was holding out a folder, "You said you wanted some extra work, no? I was passing by, thought I'd give you this."

"Thank you, Mr. Munch," Smiley said sweetly, and Mr. Munch pet her shoulder and nodded, "No problem at all. It wouldn't do to fail such a hard-working student."

He raised an arm, looking at the tiny wristwatch strapped to him, "I should go, I still have a meeting. Have a nice day, Ms. Sundae."

Smiley nodded and waved as the teacher walked away, clutching at the folder.

Smiley got home minutes later, placing the folder gingerly on her table.

She didn't remember asking for extra work.

She didn't ask _at all._

Across the room, her mirror stood, and she knew that an older version of herself, bloodied and half-dead, would be staring at her, holding out an arm and screaming silently.

Just like she'd been doing for the past month.

Smiley sat down at her desk, staring down at the innocuous folder. There was a photo sticking out from the edges, and she faltered. What if she _did_ ask? She wasn't doing well in Mr. Munch's class, sure, but she wasn't doing _bad._

But what would a _photo_ be of use in _math?_

Smiley took hold of the edge of the photo and pulled it out.

* * *

"How are the children holding up, Quiz?" Diz asked over his shoulder, peering into the screen as the girl's eyes rolled back and she collapsed.

"Ms. Sundae is stabilized," Quiz murmured, "Though that'll change quick if her memory retains information about the lapses."

Diz waved his hand in the air, almost carelessly, "Don't worry about that, my friend. I did say I'd take care of it."

Quiz nodded, slowly, once then turned back to his monitor. Shirley "Smiley" Sundae's week reset, having her back at the first day of middle school.

"Having them restart may be a good idea," Quiz suggested to Diz, who gestured for him to carry on, "Most of the problems had more or less started when they graduated elementary, but those aren't repairable anymore. "

"So," Quiz continued, hands flying over buttons and switching levers to make another monitor appear, showcasing Phredrick Jones Whistler and Zachary Kelvin, both in their beds, sleeping, "I suggest we go through their memories gradually. It'll be long, tedious work, but it will make sure they won't…break."

"How so?" Diz asked, furrowing his brow. Quiz grimaced, "Think of Mr. Eggtree's outburst and multiply that by ten."

Diz winced, "I…I see."

Quiz nodded, grim, "You'll need to let me finish first before tampering with their memories. Ms. Sundae is already registering your presence in ways far more acute than her peers."

"I'll keep that in mind," Diz returned, clapping a hand on Quiz's shoulder before stalking off. Quiz shook off the small shiver up his spine, the kind he got when he watched horror movies, and began to type.

 _Initializing…_

 _Connection established._

 _Subject #6267:_

 ** _Phrederick Jones Whistler_**


	7. Phlegmatic Observer

_**Let me just...bow my head to everyone who is still following this story, through faving, following or even just viewing. I really, really appreciate it :)**_

 _ **Especially those who review ;)**_

* * *

Oh, he was having one of _those_ dreams again.

Phred was strapped to a chair, something heavy on his head, making his neck ache from the weight. There was the familiar figure of the blue-skinned, four-armed alien-man in front of him. Blue was wearing his usual clothes, the kind that didn't do his rotund figure any type of compliment, and raised the first pair of his arms towards Phred's head.

Phred sighed, grumbling under his breath.

"Hi, dream-man," he greeted, and, as usual, didn't get a response. Rude.

The helmet was off, and Phred felt his eyes close.

* * *

Phred woke up like he usually did: half-off the bed, upside-down, and fighting a losing fight with his bedsheets.

Then he dozed for a bit before crawling over to the bathroom, usually just to splash water on his face and shower, maybe, before putting on his usual shirt, jeans and sneakers combo and trudging out the door, backpack in hand.

Sometimes, if he was lucky, he'd meet Zack on the way to school, mostly because Zack lived closest to Phred, while Phil and Smiley were neighbors over at the other side of town. Mostly neighbors. There were a few houses between theirs but it was close enough.

"Do we have a b-band class?" Zack asked, shivering but not as much as usual.

Must be a good day then, "I guess," Phred shrugged, "I mean, I know I walked into that class before."

"Yeah? Does it h-have this rea-really ugly note-thing on the f-floor?"

"Got it in one," Phred clicked his tongue, "I think there was a whole bar-thing up the wall, complete with notes."

"It's called a staff, i-idiot," Zack sighed. Phred snorted, "You know what a staff is but not a cleft?"

Zack stared at him, "…Have you been acting stupid t-this entire time?...Does that m-mean you could've he-helped me with my homework?!"

"Oh hey, there's Smiles. Smiles! Yo!" Phred threw his arm up and duly ignored Zack's sputtering, "You got any more candy?"

Smiley, who was popping a hard lemon-flavored candy into her mouth, nodded and began rummaging her pockets to find one. Phred walked briskly towards her, Zack left behind to shout indignantly at the other boy.

Phred caught the candy Smiley threw at him, popping it into his mouth, "What brings you to this neck of the woods?"

"School's canceled today," Smiley informed him, seemingly not too upset about her favorite thing being cancelled, "They moved the first day to next week."

"Sweet," Phred smiled languidly, "Means I can pay Phil a surprise visit today."

Smiley's grin slowly faded, "…Why?"

"He's got a fever," Phred shrugged, "It's no big deal, Smiles. Don't need to go to the pharm, even."

"But aren't his parents away?" she asked him something filtering into her usually controlled voice.

Phred's arms came up, "Woah now, Sundae. It's just a fever. It's not even high. But," he said, a hand coming around to pinch Zack's stomach, who had been trying to surprise him from behind. Would've worked if his teeth didn't chatter so much, "He's probably pretty bored to be home alone. How 'bout we all go pay him a visit?"

Smiley eyeballed him in that way she made sure the other speaker wasn't getting away with their bull anytime soon. Phred smiled in a way that was placating, and pet the top of her head when she eased back, "There we are," he smirked when she slapped his hand away with a single raised eyebrow.

"Don't do that," she grumbled, for once in the entirety of their knowing her, and Zack gawked at her while Phred threw his head back and cackled to the sky, "We are _ruining_ you," he snickered, "Oh man."

Smiley rolled her eyes, mouth regaining their usual upward curve before turning and going to the direction of their last friend's house.

Phred gave himself a literal pat on the back while Zack slapped him upside the head, "Worst friend."

"No, you are," Phred shot back, then jogged to level with Smiley.

* * *

"You look like shit."

"Gee, _thanks_ , buddy," Phil half-sneered at him, "Didn't notice."

"I'm not surprised," Smiley said, lightly pushing Phred further into the room so that she and Zack could get inside, "You look like you haven't gone out of bed at all."

Phil's expression immediately smoothed over, at which point Phred was silently mocking him behind Smiley. Smiley, who was standing at the edge of Phil's bed and carefully scrutinizing the poor boy for any signs of sickness worse than 'just a fever'.

"Have you even eaten yet?" she asked him, and Phil winced.

"Yes," he replied with a straight face, hiding a candy bar's wrapper behind him. It didn't work, the cellophane was too noisy.

"Nothing healthy, then," Smiley snorted, "Want something to eat?"

"Can we have soup?" Phred asked, receiving a pinch on the arm from Zack. He flinched, and backed off from the other boy.

"Don't be a jerk."

"I was _asking,_ I wasn't actually expecting. Jeez, man."

Smiley titled her head to the side, considering, "Only if Phil lets us."

Phil waved his arm in gesticulation conveying 'sure, whatever', and Smiley nodded to herself, "Alright. Zack, can you help me, please?"

"You had to ask?" was Zack's rhetoric reply, pulling out the apron he carried everywhere from his backpack.

Phred side-eyed him in a way most judgmental.

"For shame," he mouthed at Zack while Smiley was heading to the door, earning a snicker from Phil, "You've known how to cook this entire time and yet you let Smiley cook a lot? Shit, check that, _all the time?_ "

"She's better at it than I am, shut up," Zack retorted, unfolding the apron and putting it on with dignity.

Phil raised a brow, now speaking up, " _That's_ your excuse _?_ "

"Worst friends," Zack replied flatly at the both of them after finishing the knot behind him, "Ever."

"Aw, but Zacky," Phred started.

"You know we love you. Sort of," Phil finished, and they exchanged a distal high-five with each other as Zack made a face at them.

"Don't blame me if I spit in your soup," Zack sighed, ignoring the indignant squawk from the other boys and leaving the room to follow Smiley.

"…So. Philly," Phred drawled, striding over to the other boy's bed, taking a chair and placing it at the edge, "You have Smiley here. Making soup for you. How's that doing it for you?"

Phil stared at him, then slowly let his eyes narrow into a glare.

Phred smirked.

"You really thought nobody'd notice?"

"Shut up," Phil grumbled, "I'm not hearing this."

"Kaay," Phred hummed, "But that won't mean Smiles won't notice. Just so you know. She's not stupid."

"I know she's not."

"And yet," Phred finished, mouth curling back to bare his teeth at Phil.

The other boy's jaw clenched, "You can be quiet now, _Phredrick,_ " Phil hissed, and that was when Phred heard a set of footsteps coming at them in moderate speed.

Phred shrugged, smiling lazily before turning to wave the other two over.

* * *

"Mr. Whistler is definitely stable, as you can see," Quiz showed the monitor to Diz, "Hasn't even been picking up my presence but in dreams. Definitely the least in risk— what's wrong?"

Diz, who had been staring at the monitor, suddenly paled under his green skin.

Quiz turned to look at the monitor, where Phred was sitting down on the floor while Sundae and Zack decided to take their turn with annoying Phil on his sickbed.

He was scrawling something on the floor with his finger, a message that read:

"Hi."

He looked up straight into Quiz's eyes and smiled.

("I know you're there," his finger was writing out on wooden floors, over and over and over—)

"Switch," Diz snapped, grabbing the controls from Quiz after shoving him away, "Switch, now!"

 _Initializing…._

 _Subject #1993:_

 ** _Zachary Kelvin_**

* * *

The next chapter will most likely be the last one in third-person before Phil's first-person POV comes back.


	8. Frozen in Fear

Zack threw his head back and emitted a sound that would've made a hyena proud.

"Shut up!" Phred snapped, throwing a card at Zack's laughing form.

Smiley let her lips curl upwards in a serene motion, earning both Phil and Phred's vile glares and making Zack fall to his side.

"Go fish," Smiley beamed, and Phred made a sound like a bear dying in a lava pit, " _How?!_ "

"You gotta be kidding me," Phil gritted out, letting the cards drop to the floor.

Zack was still laughing at their failures from the safety of the corner of the room, "Six rounds g-guys. No wins," Zack smirked, "Y-you all _suck._ "

"Shut it, go to bed. Only adults are allowed past nine, you hear?!" Phred snarled, snatching all the cards together again before shuffling, "Smiles. You, me, Beat Your Neighbor. Phil isn't allowed because Phil doesn't have reflexes."

"I have reflexes," Phil insisted, even when Phred started to deal. Smiley took it all in with her usual joy.

"Of a statue, s-sure," Zack snorted.

"You're all jerks," Phil grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest.

And then Smiley chirped, "I win."

" _What_?!" Phred screeched, throwing his cards up in the air before shooting up and stomping around the room.

"Did you seriously just lose within the minute Zack and I've been snarking at each other?" Phil asked incredulously.

Zack grinned, "Worst player."

"Worst friend," Phred retorted, shoving a finger at Zack.

"Worst student."

"I'm pretty sure that's Phil."

"I am right here," Phil sighed, picking up the cards. Smiley got up and started helping him.

"Worst insult-maker."

"The hell is an insult-maker?"

"Boys, boys, calm down," Smiley's voice came in, trying to smooth over the argument, and she stood between the boys, "You're both pretty."

Both Zack and Phred's mouths snapped shut with an audible click.

Phil smirked and gave Smiley a fistbump.

"We should really go to sleep now," she suggested further, ignoring the "Worst person _ever!_ " from Phred's general direction, "It's already twenty past ten."

She turned away from the boys, yawning without covering her mouth.

"Worst manners," Zack quipped.

Smiley replied by way of rolling her eyes.

"You guys sure you wanna sleep on the floor?" Phil asked, climbing into his bed after tossing the deck of cards on a desk next to it, "I mean, the couch downstairs is pretty comfy."

"I d-don't wanna," Zack clarified, setting out cots on the floor.

Phred and Smiley looked at each other, "…Yeah, no," Phred replied, a hand going around to scratch at the back of his head, "No offense man, but your house is creepy."

"Yeah, because that _totally_ wasn't offensive."

And so, without that much ado, mostly because they all had a small debate whether or not turning on the lights would deter closet-monsters, they slept.

Most of them.

* * *

Zack lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling even as he heard the world shuffle around him into a slow, deep sleep. Lights poured in from the window to the side of the room, surrounded by the sleeping form of his friends.

Phil was running again.

Not away from his problems, not like usual, but…running. Zack squinted and felt reality blur at the edges, seeing white tiles instead of a darkened ceiling.

He was tied down on a chair and Phil was running. Smiley was kneeling on the floor bleeding to her death, Phred was nowhere to be found and Phil was _running._

Away. From them.

Zack was trapped next to Smiley, who was trying her best to comfort him, despite the fact _she_ was the one so close to—

"You're gonna be fine, Zack," she murmured, eyes drooping lopsidedly, blood dripping down her mouth.

"You're lying," Zack chuckled, a guttural sound from the back of his throat, mirthless, "You know you are."

"They wouldn't kill you," she continued, eyes closed now, and Zack could see her eyelashes painted a bright red when blood started gushing down her face, "They need you."

"That's not any better," he whispered, and looked down to see his arms still trapped to the chair. And his chest twisted an dit felt like someone grabbed hold of everything inside and _pulled._

Then he realized Smiley wasn't talking anymore.

"Smiles?" he whispered, looking at the twitching body beside him, "Answer me? Please?"

 _Don't leave me alone don't leave me alone don't leave me alon—_

"Not leaving Zack," she gurgled, gingerly setting herself down on the floor, "Never."

But he could see it She was getting paler and paler and the red on the floor was getting _bigger._

"Liar," he whispered again, and he tried to will his limbs to move. But the thing about being a child meant that you aren't strong. Not against something like this.

Smiley…smiled, once, then closed her eyes. Zack counted three breaths before her chest stopped moving.

His jaw trembled, a scream tearing itself up his throat, heat stinging the back of his eyes. He balled his hands up into fists and felt them go numb.

Zack looked up.

Phil was running.

And how was he still there? He was running, like Phil _always_ did, but he never seemed to go forward.

( _Good_.)

Cowards, no matter how smart, didn't deserve to get away.

( _Phred, Phred, you fucking bastard, whereareyou?!_ )

Zack looked down. At Smiley, whose body was going cold, and saw himself reflected in her blood. It rippled, and the familiar face of an alien wearing sunglasses stared back at him.

"Let me out, Viz," Zack hissed, thrashing against his bonds, "Let me _out!_ "

( _I know you won't, though. Because-_ )

Phil jumped in his peripheral vision, "Shit, _Zack_?!"

Phil was near him now, on the floor, desperately gripping on anything like he was dragged across the area. He was on his stomach, turned away from him, struggling to get up on hands and knees.

"You always do this," Zack hissed, feeling the restraints on his body lighten and he stood, wobbling on his feet, "You _always_ fucking do this!"

"Zack," Phil breathed, fully turning to face him now, getting up on shaky knees. Zack's eyes flickered down and saw the gaping hole in Phil's stomach, "Zack, get out of here. We need to get out of here."

" _I_ need to get out of here," Zack spat, making Phil jump, " _You_ can just die in a ditch!"

Phil's face twitched, shoving Zack away, "Stop being an asshole! What the hell did _I even do_?!"

"You left us!" Zack screeched, and his hands shot out to grab Phil's neck, "And now Smiley is dead! You let her _die."_

Phil gaped at him, and started to choke when Zack tightened his grip on his neck, "You—"

(- _I'd come after you too._ )

Phil pulled out a knife and stabbed his eyes. Zack—

Shot up from his cot, seeing Phil and only barely stopped himself from screaming by biting his lip.

"Not real Zack," Phil said, and he was sitting on his bed, wearing a tired expression, "Not real."

"…I—"

"Don't say anything, don't ever mention this," and it was _Phred_ this time?! Zack's head swiveled around to see Phred coming in, holding a knife. Stained red.

Two pairs of hands on his tiny shoulders, extended from the tall, red-skinned figure standing behind him. Zack's eyes flickered down, saw a hand on the floor.

Flickered back up, saw Viz smile at Zack, "Won't you come with me now?"

"No," Zack gasped, trying to remember how to _breath, breath, breath, goddammit! –"Never."_

"You'll change your mind," Viz hummed, and led Phred into the room, closing the door behind him. Zack, silently, willed for his dark-skinned friend to get his damn shit together, but the grip on the knife never slackened and Phil was staring blankly at his door, murmuring to himself, "Guess only Zack can see it."

And Zack wanted to hit him right then, again. But Viz took a step forward again, slowly gaining ground. Zack scrambled back as they started to advance on him, and felt his back hit the wall. His chest constricted, hearts pressing hard against his ribcage.

Phil spoke up, "Zack, jump out. You can escape that way."

"Why should I trust you?" Zack whispered, but his hand was already reaching up towards the latch of the window, eyes never leaving the smug smirk on Viz's lips.

He wasn't looking at him, but he didn't need to. Zack could _feel_ Phil smile, "You don't have much of a choice."

Zack opened the window and jumped.

* * *

Zack had left early.

He hadn't said a word when he woke up outside the house, just that he needed to go home. Smiley had tried to ask him about it but Zack just wouldn't reply to her. Not to Phil. Nor Phred.

And so Zack walked away, bags heavy under his eyes and eyes dull.

* * *

"That was uncalled for, _sir_."

"You don't get to have a say over anything I do, _minion,_ " Viz sneered, "Now proceed to the next stage."

* * *

 _ **A huge damn thanks to everyone who reviewed, viewed, faved, and favorite'd this story! They're all really, really big motivators for me to keep trucking on with this story! (Especially considering we just hit over 1.2k views! Holy SHIT you guys!)**_

 _ **Also:**_

 _ **We'll be going back to Phil's first-person POV next chapter, as well as progress in this slow-ass plot. This is what I get for attempting subtlety, aha.**_

 ** _(And yes, there will be an explanation for this later.)_**


	9. It starts with zero

**_Have a nice 2k word chapter, everybody!_**

* * *

The thing about having friends is that they stick with you, if you find the good ones.

I did.

But the thing about friends is that the longer you both know each other the more ammunition you have to sling around during arguments.

And with that, I guess you can guess what happens next.

Except it didn't, because I had good friends. And because I had good friends, Zack didn't even try to start anything. Nothing, except for this:

"Don't talk to me anymore," Zack said to me when I got back to school. He had been waiting for me by the door of my classroom, crouching on the floor with his hood over his head.

I wanted to ask why.

I didn't bother.

Numb, I nodded once before brushing past him and going to my desk. I slunk down my chair and put my hands over my face. Between my fingers, I saw Zack stand up, swaying for a bit before shuffling off to his class. Or whatever. I didn't see why he even bothered to come to school considering he decided to jump out my goddamn window because of things I couldn't see.

So, my friends were getting those…dreams, too. They were anything but, however. They were real. I knew they were. I know they know that too.

The teacher came in, shut the door, and started shuffling through the papers he'd brought with him when he reached the desk in front.

I looked at Greg sleeping beside me on his desk and wondered how I never caught on to the fact he never breathed right. Always had really short breaths and never let his chest rise in time.

He, simply put, wasn't real. Not like how my friends and I are.

But even they're getting pulled into this too. I looked behind me, knowing Phred's desk would be empty, and Zack never took this class. Smiley was two seats away from me, nearer to the front, hunched over her desk. Her skin was pale, that much I could see, almost a stark contrast to her neon red sweater. She didn't even look up when the teacher tapped his ruler on the board and started the lecture.

Then she looked up. And over to me.

My stomach dropped.

She had heavy bags under her bloodshot eyes, her smile small and tired. She was barely making it through the class, I realized, and raised my hand.

"What is it, Mr. Eggtree?"

"I think Smi—," I stopped myself, "Uh. Shirley's not feeling well."

The teacher glanced over to Smiley, who was shooting me a half-annoyed glare. She was obviously trying to hide whatever was bothering her, but the unimpressed stare I gave back communicated, 'No. You're dying on your feet. Get help. I can mom at you too until you go.'

The teacher clicked his tongue and hoisted Smiley up, thanking me with a short nod. Smiley had a resigned look on her face, and pulled her backpack on before trudging after the teacher.

I counted five steps before a loud _thud_ resounded from the hall and I shot up from my seat. I knew, intellectually, what I would see. I was hoping it wasn't, but I was right. I grabbed my pack and raced to the door before 5 could even peek out, and his desk was closest to it.

Smiley passed out on the floor, blood dripping down the side of her mouth. The teacher was panicking, screaming something on his phone. I didn't really care what he was saying.

Instead, I went over to Smiley, knelt down beside her, bringing a shaky hand over to her neck.

A strong rhythm pulsed under my fingers, and I gave out a long, relieved sigh.

"Do you want me to carry her to the nurse's office, Mr. Sum?" I asked quietly.

Mr. Sum pinched the bridge of his nose, lips pressing together, "…Yes, please. I'll follow you shortly."

And so I picked her up, piggyback style, and I walked us to the nurse's office, leaving behind a mess of an adult and what could have a much worse scene.

* * *

Mr. Sum came to the office with good and bad news: one, that she was going to be fine, just had an episode with mild food poisoning, and two, that her parents weren't here.

They never were, I thought, but didn't say so out loud, instead standing by as Mr. Sum decided to blab about something or another. I didn't trust him, or the nurse's diagnosis. How would she know, when she never came in the room in the first place?

Strike one.

"I can take her home, Mr. Sum," I said, "We've had a few sleepovers before, including my other friends."

And Mr. Sum said yes, eyes glazing over with that self-assured satisfaction that a problem was taken out of his hands. I smiled the way Smiley had once, when 5 had once tried to bully her. I looked at him in the eyes, smiled as wide as possible, showing as much teeth as I could, and said, "Thank you."

It creeped 5 out enough he stayed far, far enough away from her and it worked well enough against this adult to sputter out a lame social nicety before leaving. I rolled my eyes, then cast a good look around the room. No changes, just those three, simple beds, stools aligned next to the nurse's table on the far side of the room.

I laid my backpack on the floor and dragged a stool next to Smiley's bed before sitting on it. Come to think of it, this was the same one they put me in before, next to the window.

I thought of Zack and him waking up outside. Though of how he'd just cut me off earlier this morning. Thought of my friends, all of them, wondered if it was going to end like that each time.

I put my head in my arms as I leaned over the edge of Smiley's bed, and closed my eyes.

Opened them again, found a woman staring back at me with long brown hair and sad black eyes.

Smiley.

"You're not real," I groaned out, trying to go back to sleep. She wouldn't let me. An arm lashed out and tried to keep me from dozing off. I frowned at her.

Smiley's older version just shook her head silently, and pointed at the bed.

"No way," I replied, sitting up and crossing my arms, "Absolutely not."

I knew what I'd saw, and I'd seen enough of Smiley's blood to last me several lifetimes.

Then she grabbed my shoulders and shook me.

"What— !" I yelped.

She took my chin and forced me to look to the side. The window was open, curtain flapping inwards from the wind.

Shit.

"Shit," I cursed, wrenching myself away from older Smiley and scrambling to the window. This was on the first floor, thankfully, but…

A squeak.

I looked back.

The older version of Smiley was looking out the window, eyes drooping. She sighed, and I realized I couldn't even hear her breathe. I raised an arm to try and reach out to her but—

Well. Phred wasn't wrong when he said I didn't have good reflexes.

Smiley's arm shot out and hit me squarely at the back of my head. I gagged, falling forward, landing on hands and knees. I started coughing out blood on the floor, feeling my throat tear with each and every one.

Smiley's feet came to stand in front of me, and my head and neck hurt too much to let me look up.

A click. Small, metallic.

I'd heard the sound in movies, video games, everything that I could watch in the safety of my domestic life. I've heard the results in the news, how ugly it got. How much people bled when they were—

…There's a thing that people don't tell you in games. You can always hear flesh being sliced open, and the sound of a body falling to the floor with a heavy thud sounded like livestock being thrown on tiles.

Gore splattered against the floor, the wall, dripped down to where I was keeping my head down. I felt something wet land on the back of my head and I refused to look up.

Smiley's feet swayed, then fell, and the knife clattered near the front of my peripheral vision, along with the sheath it had been placed in. It was shiny, it was large, and it was reflecting my face back to me and I didn't want to look anymore.

 _Not real,_ I kept reminding myself, _not real. Not real._

But no matter how hard I tried not to concentrate on the stench of copper filling my nose, no matter how still I went, I couldn't…

I wrenched my eyes shut.

The coppery smell of blood wafted away, gradually, like Smiley and everything that made her human dissipated into air.

I opened my eyes again. Nothing. Just the same, dull, and old tiles of the nurse's office.

No big deal.

I turned my head to the left and saw Smiley's face staring at me from under her bed. Her eyes were bloodshot, a hand on the side of her head, the other cradling her neck.

( _So that's where you—_ )

"…hey, Phil," she whispered, and I tried to muster up a smile. It worked, I think.

"Hey, Smiles," I mumbled back.

Smiley closed her eyes and curled up into a ball, "…I think there's something wrong with me."

( _I think so too._ )

"You're fine, Sunny," I half-grinned at the soft chuckle escaping her previously down-turned lips. It never looked right on her. A frown. It went against her entire character.

"Haven't heard that nickname in years," she whispered out, and it was better, it was more of a quiet voice instead of a a string of words barely held together by fear, "Wasn't it Phred who gave me that one?"

"Phred was the one who made up all our nicknames," I sat down properly on the floor, and if I slouched enough I could see Smiley's half-grin.

"Yeah…" she murmured, then closed her eyes. I stayed quiet too. For a bit of time, only the sound of our breaths were audible in that tiny room, separated from the rest of reality where children went to school and bitched about homework without having to worry about being existential shitshows like we were. I counted to thirty second before opening my mouth.

"The teacher said you could come home with me," I said to no one in particular, the walls almost echoing my sentence back to me. Smiley didn't answer. If I scooted closer a bit, I could hear even breaths coming from her.

Asleep, then. She wasn't going to be able to answer my questions now.

I reached out towards the heavy bags under her eyes and stopped midway. Nope, I wasn't going to pry until she wanted to tell me.

That was the mature thing to do, right?

"I'm sorry," I mumbled out instead, retracting my hand. She didn't even twitch.

I raised a quivering hand over to the bridge of my nose, wrenching my eyes shut, "I'm sorry."

* * *

"Start in several hours, Quiz," Viz yawned, one of his arms coming up to cover his mouth, "When the girl is asleep."

"I know, sir," Quiz sighed under his breath. Luckily for him, Viz was already walking away. Quiz shot a quiet curse behind his back, then turned back to the screen. Phillip Eggtree was still sitting beside the bed, watching over his friend. What the boy didn't know, however, was that Smiley wasn't asleep.

"Sleep" after all, wasn't the same as artificially controlling her brain waves to slow down.

Quiz put both his hands on his head and tried to wrack his brain for something, _anything_ to stop the… _process._

It had been under beta-testing for a long time – so long that Viz had gotten impatient and decided to pick one of the children to test on, saying 'we only really need one anyway, the rest are disposable.'

That child was Smiley Sundae.

Quiz felt his stomach roll something fierce when he'd activated the time stopper and descended into their reality. He had put on the small, nearly microscopic chip into the base of her neck while she slept on the cot at Eggtree's house. The device would let anyone with access to the controls to spread nanobots into her bloodstream to control her physical actions. The only downside was that they couldn't control small, intricate movements naturally; talking, facial expressions, small gestures.

Or that was what Diz had said to him, after skimming through the piles of progress reports about the machine. Quiz knew that wasn't the only downside though; Sundae wouldn't get rest. She'd be awake, not quite but close enough, during late hours when she should be sleeping. This would mean she wouldn't be getting enough sleep. This would mean fatigue, sickness, general discomfort until she would go into a manic episode or die.

But Viz wouldn't care about that.

Here's the thing: Quiz did. Quiz cared for those four children fiercely. It was why he was extending so much effort to have them live as comfortably as possible, why he often controlled the Mr. Munch puppet to help them, why he was here now: in the control room, hacking into security measures and going against every code he'd learned since stepping foot into the Vizion facility.

But _fuck_ them. They had stupid rules and shit morals so _there._ Quiz entered the last line of code and watched as information spread across the screen in rapid binary text. He plugged in the alien equivalent of a USB, except this one would never be detectable, not unless the computer manager knew exactly what to find. If they even knew how to, anyway.

(No one in this facility had the same knack with technology like Quiz did.)

Quiz copied the data, erased any trace of his presence, and left.

* * *

 ** _First of all, I am...honestly amazed. How that review count shot up I have no clue, but thank you all so much!_**

 ** _(Special shout-out to an-ominous reviewer and Mask Guy review for being here since the start XD)_**


	10. Dial up One

**_Apologies for not updating sooner! School's finally managed to catch up to me, unfortunately. Nonetheless, I thank you all for the general support you've given me for the story! :D_**

 ** _(Shout-out to Unknown too, for bearing my rants in the PMs and to Red the Pokemon Master for spotting my obscure Scooby Doo reference XD)_**

 ** _To make it up to you guys: here's a 3.3k chapter!_**

* * *

Smiley woke up while I started up the console. I felt her stir on the couch I was leaning on, sitting on the floor, facing the TV. I turned my head to see her rubbing her eyes and looking around, before finally resting her gaze at me, "How'd I get here?"

"Mr. Munch offered to drive us over to my place," I explained, setting down the controller on the floor. She stared at me for a bit before slowly glancing out the window.

I blinked.

"It's only five in the afternoon," I said, waving over to the clock over the TV, "You weren't out for long."

"Okay…," Smiley whispered out, slowly getting up. I looked down at the controller, then to the screen where the pause menu was up.

"Wanna play some video games?" I offered, "I can teach you if you don't know how to."

She shook her head, "Not right now, thanks. I really just can't look at the screen. It's too bright."

"Okay," I returned, shutting down the game along with the TV instead, and turned to her. Smiley was sitting up on the edge of the couch, and I climbed up to the opposite end, facing her. She was staring at her hands, her eyes looking like she was somewhere else despite sitting in front of me.

I didn't think I'd see it here in front of me. The thousand-yard stare. And in Smiley's, of all people's eyes, too.

"Do you have…weird dreams? Sometimes?" she said, in a voice so quiet I didn't think I heard her the first time. Smiley curled up into a ball, circling her arms around her bent legs. She stared at the floor.

I grimaced. Not now. I wasn't in the mood to talk about this now. I still didn't know if whatever was up there could read minds, "…Yeah. I really, really don't think we should talk about it right now, though."

Smiley's eyes slowly drifted to a point just behind me, half-lidded and dull. She nodded once before placing her head in her arms and went silent.

Sometimes I wonder if my friends see more than I do, witness what's actually happening even in the safety of the sun. I know Zack might, when he jumped out my window at my suggestion. Smiley here hasn't given any sort of clear hints, and Phred is…an enigma in and of himself. He wasn't giving anyone anything and it was kind of pissing me off.

"I'll cook for dinner," I offered once that train of thought faded.

"Sure," was Smiley's muffled answer. I felt something in my chest twinge and I moved to stand.

Nothing much happened, really. Smiley practically regressed into herself, not even replying when I tried to make a conversation with her. It was… _wrong._ Smiley almost always replied, no matter who or how anyone spoke to her. Even 5, when he tried to insult the yellow-ish skin she'd inherited from her Asian grandmother, she'd turned the other cheek and left.

(Of course, one day 5 had come into the classroom so spooked he was paler than _Zack,_ and when Smiley came in he'd inconspicuously try to avoid her. Smiley was a lot of things, a doormat wasn't one of them.)

And now she was…this. Miserable. And I couldn't do anything to help her. Nothing I could do that she'd let, anyway.

So I went up, got some extra blankets, gave her to them ad bid her goodnight before going upstairs to sleep in my room.

* * *

That was yesterday. We're in school now, we're walking down the usual sub-par halls of the school, and I wanted answers. _Needed_ answers. But all I needed to do was to look at Smiley to know she wasn't feeling well enough for whatever interrogation I'd be doing, and Phred was still keeping up his disappearing act.

Zack was…

"Phil, our class is over here," Smiley called out, her voice still dull and tired. I turned away from the door across from her and mumbled an apology when I reached our actual classroom. She smiled, brought a hand up to pat my shoulder and went in ahead of me. It was only when she sat down that I noticed.

Phred was back.

Phred was back and he was at the front of the room asking for chalk from Mr. Munch with one hand out.

I narrowed my eyes, hands on the straps of my backpack tightening.

Mr. Munch gave it over without so much as a "why?" and I wasn't particularly surprised. Mr. Munch was…nice. Not particularly bright but he was nice.

Phred caught my poorly veiled glare and shrugged once before walking over to the desk farthest from my own.

I grit my teeth, but tried to hold in the curse storm trying to climb up my throat because not only would that do nothing but get me in trouble, it'd just upset Smiley. She didn't need to deal with my bull when she was already half-dead on her feet.

I sighed, tried not to glare too much at Phred and went to my seat.

Unsurprisingly, Phred shot out the classroom the second school was out. Literally, bolted out the class without a single drop of subtlety. I was amazed he even had the energy for it.

I was stuck trying to somehow telepathically get Phred drag his ass back here to answer me while Smiley was chatting excitedly with Mr. Munch about his Morse code book. He'd brought it today as an example for something or another, and Smiley had lit up the entire classroom when she saw it. I think she said something about wanting to learn it way back when. Meh.

I was deep into thinking up ways to creatively lynch Phred for ditching me time and again for almost a week now when Smiley tapped my shoulder to get my attention. I turned to see a large, black book with the words _Morse Code for Beginners_ emblazoned in the front.

"Please don't tell me you're going to stay up all night to read that," I groaned.

Smiley grinned, "I'm not you, Phil. I know when to take a break."

"Oh _sure,_ " I sneered, "Because losing sleep is _completely_ a good way to stay healthy."

"Better than gorging your face with candy bars when you're sick," Smiley retorted, packing the book away in her bag.

"…I was hungry," I insisted, even when we both knew she got me with that one, "You can't blame a sick person eating easy-to-reach nutrition when he can't cook."

She laughed at my face while we walked out the door and into the hallways, " _Nutrition?_ You really _haven't_ been listening in Science, have you?"

"There's nutrition in there somewhere," I said dismissively, waving a lazy hand in the air between us.

"Only the kind that's bad for you."

"Now if only you'd use that hidden sass of yours at teachers", I sighed out, "We'd be such a great team."

A small chuckle came out her lips, and I smiled while I pushed the main doors open to let us both out, "I'm taking that as a yes."

"Whatever you need to sleep, _Philly_ ," she smirked, and I cackled in reply before we fistbumped.

Well. Phred may be slowly spiraling out of my life, and Zack was gone, but Smiley was here. And for now, she was more than enough.

* * *

That was more or less how the week passed. Smiley and I going to school, going through the motions. The usual.

…Okay, I'm a bad liar it seems.

Smiley's health wasn't getting any better, even when I wet full-on mom on her during the last three days. She just couldn't keep up anymore. On anything.

Not that she'd be able to, anyway. I'd discover why in about three days from the day I noticed her walking lopsidedly, wincing with every step:

"You okay?" I asked her, brows furrowing. We were walking home from school when I saw her doing it. Step, wince, flinch, step, repeat process.

Smiley waved a hand dismissively in the air, but we both knew she wasn't being even remotely convincing, not when her face was contorted in pain, "It's nothing. Just tired."

"You look like you're walking over a bed of coal," I pointed out, stopping at the middle of the sidewalk. Cars whizzed by, wind rustling the leaves on the branches of the trees overhead. Smiley stopped too and looked at some distant point behind me.

"I don't think we should talk about this right now," she said, echoing the words I said to her the first time she came over.

I nodded once, instantly getting the hint.

Her jaw tightened, her expression growing defiant and she straightened. I saw her suppress every wince of pain with every step and I shook my head, exasperated. Talk about stubborn.

"Idiot," I called after her, "Want some help?"

She said yes.

* * *

Her feet still haven't recovered well after a few days. She only let me see it when she literally couldn't fix it herself due to her inability of stretching her legs too much.

It was bad.

"I think this is infected," I said to her, worried. Sure, it was still partially covered by old gauze, but.

I had a roll of new gauze and changing the bandages together shed more light on it. It, being the numerous cuts, abrasions, and bruises there were on her feet that were revealed when I completely took off the old ones.

I stared at the injuries for a good few seconds before standing up and going, "We are taking you to the hospital."

"I can't afford that, Philly," Smiley sighed out, "You know that. I wouldn't practically living together with you for the past month if I could."

"…Make your parents send out some money, maybe?" I suggested, wincing.

"Too busy," she shook her head, a sort of rueful smile on her face, "I'm just worried I'm butting into your personal space."

"If you were I'd have kicked you out already," I retorted, crossing my arms over my chest. She rolled her eyes, "I'll be fine. I only really need a week or something before the cuts will heal and I'll have scars left."

"That's not really much better."

"It is to me."

I cocked an eyebrow at her and looked down at her feet again, before sitting down and wrapping them with new gauze. She had a stupidly high pain tolerance for some reason, I was almost jealous. She didn't even flinch. She also avoided any and all eye contact for the rest of the night.

I leaned back on the bottom of the couch and sighed, "If that thing's still not healed we're going to the hospital."

"Duly noted," she smiled.

* * *

That was three hours ago.

Maybe. I wasn't counting.

You see, I'd woken up in the middle of the night. Again. This wasn't uncommon. I did this a lot when I got too thirsty while sleeping, so I do my usual thing and go down to get some water. Straight to the kitchen I went, and while my cup was filling with water from the tap, I yawned and turned my head to look around.

Whatever sleep in my eyes I'd had dried out when I noticed one of the knives missing.

It was the medium-sized one, with a metal sheath.

And _no,_ it was impossible. I kept telling myself that while I downed the water, wiping my mouth with the back of my sleeve. Impossible.

First of all, that Smiley was an adult, this one had turned 17 just last month and we were in _highschool_ for godssake.

( _That's not right…_ )

Shit.

I put the glass down on the counter, and went outside to the living room. No Smiley. Not surprised. Looked at her Morse code book she left on the table and put a hand over my face.

Between my fingers, I could see the window open, curtains rustling as the wind blew into the house. The door was locked shut, but I could see an almost obnoxiously bright white line under the it, leading to the outside.

I looked at the window. Saw nothing but moonlight streaming in and the quiet streets illuminated by streetlights. Not a single car passing by, not one pedestrian.

I slipped on a pair of shoes I'd kicked out of this afternoon and went out.

The chalk stretched out, down the right side of the street and towards the horizon where I couldn't see it anymore. I grimaced, taking one step away from the chalk line I was stepping on and—

Back in the living room. Of course.

I walked out again, this time taking an extra jacket just in case, looking out where the chalk line disappeared from my vision. I locked the door behind me and followed it.

Was it stupid? Yep. Was it possibly a trap? Absolutely. Was it probably going to lead me to nowhere? Definitely.

Except that I couldn't walk anywhere without it, it didn't matter if it was a trap or if it lead me to nowhere, because as I looked around the cul-de-sac, I saw Smiley's staggering figure in the distance, going between two houses. I glanced down, seeing my hands balled into white-knuckled fists, seeing the chalk path stretching out towards where she eventually disappeared from my sight.

I sucked in a breath, letting it out shakily and slinging the extra jacket over my shoulder and jogged over.

"Smiles," I tried to call out, to no avail. She was too far. I was outside her hearing range.

I frowned, jogging a bit to catch up to her. She, somehow, still managed to move faster than I did. I couldn't reach her.

Well shit.

I broke out into a full sprint, keeping an eye on the chalk path instead of where I was going. If I didn't, I'd have gone back to the house. If I didn't, I might have seen where we were going.

Looking back on it now, I'd been led across the entire neighborhood; down roads, through houses, cutting into private property a few times and finally, the small forest behind the local park.

They didn't have lights here, not unless I counted the small lantern I passed by at the entrance of the park, but now? Nothing but utter darkness, with the slightest illumination from the moon above.

Leaves crunched under my feet, and the sheer _silence_ of the place was unsettling. It was like I'd been taken out of reality and placed in some pocket dimension where sound didn't exist. I couldn't even hear myself breathe.

I could feel my heart beat against my ribcage, sweat dripping down the sides of my face, but I couldn't feel that familiar ache in my legs when I went running for long.

Something was wrong.

I needed to get Smiley and bolt.

Thick branches, the ones low enough I needed to duck to pass by, had a dense number of leaves, all rustling in the wind and obscuring my vision of the small dirt path I was on. I grimaced. This wasn't good. I should've brought a flashlight.

Looking down, I could see the chalk still on the ground, white between the dark brown of the soil with leaves littering over it. Idly, I wondered who drew it in the first place, who was leading me to Smiley and why they were helping me. But the soft whispers carried to me by the wind stopped that train of thought.

It was a man, I think. It definitely sounded male. I started to pick up the pace again despite the protests from my burning lungs. I probably smelled of sweat. I didn't really care. It was cold and windy enough to deter the smell I was exuding.

Minutes later I could see Smiley between the leaves, and I pushed away flora in my path to try and reach her.

She wasn't harmed, thank god.

I breathed a sigh of relief, walking over to her. She was standing in the middle of a small clearing, back turned to me and still as a board.

That was when I noticed that the wind previously chilling me to my bones was gone, replaced by an unnatural stillness. Something cold climbed up my spine, making me straighten, my shoulders tense.

( _The chalk paths are fading into the dirt, the guiding white slowly_ —)

I walked up to Smiley, bring up one arm to touch her shoulder.

"Don't touch me," she whispered out, raising her own arm to bring up the shiny, metallic surface of the knife reflecting my own confused expression back at me.

And then she brought it down. On her arm. I could see the blade rip through her skin, digging int flesh and letting blood come out, dripping down. I watched, mute with shock, throat drying up, frozen in place while she dug the blade deeper.

My arms felt heavy, my legs weighed down by a thousand pounds, but somehow I managed to take one more step forward—

 _(Gone._ )

Smiley held her arm out and bled on the dirt. I didn't look down to see what she was aiming at, because at that moment, she turned, put one hand on my chest and pushed me. I saw, in that split second before I somehow landed on the floor of my living room, Smiley's wide-eyed expression and the chalk path that had been protecting me before smudged into nothing.

* * *

Diz smiled.

That was to say, he curled his lips upwards and tried to crease his eyes to emulate what his and Earth's kind thought of a 'smile'.

He watched through the screen as the young woman continued to helplessly walk through the dirt path, a stagger in her footsteps that could never be natural. That was alright, though. Nobody would notice. Diz made sure of that.

On another screen, a smaller one to his left, showed a young man, racing after his friend on the chalk paths drawn by some unknown entity. Diz jaw had twitched at the sight of it, but he was unable to descend into their reality to interfere. Not now, anyway.

But back to his initial project.

On the main screen, right in front of him, showed the image of Smiley Sundae staggering slowly to the edge of the simulation. A sort of drunken dance shuffling forward. Diz reached down and whispered into the small microphone on the desk, "Move left."

And she did, passing between two trees. She walked, and walked, through bushes and over hills, until she reached her destination. A small clearing in the middle of the woods, the sky overhead covered by thick leaves.

"Put in the human DNA," he murmured into the mic, pressing another button to reveal to her, and her eyes only, the small device keeping their reality stable. Leaves rustled, footsteps were heard. Eggtree was coming into the premises.

Diz was running out of time.

He clicked his tongue and told her to move faster.

With the knife she'd stolen in hand, she raised it and plunged it deep into her arm, then raised it. Diz watched carefully to see if the device would crumble under the presence of biological material it wasn't built to handle.

Eggtree tried, foolishly, to engage with the girl, but he had her push him out of the artificially made safe-zone of Ouroboros and turned back to feed the device more of her blood.

Nothing happened at first. Then it sparked. Once, twice.

It burst into flames.

Diz smiled.


	11. Second Appearances

I woke up on the floor of the living room, sun filtering through my broken window. Glass splayed across the floor, thankfully not reaching me, but conveying a lot of bad things anyway. I sat up, not bothering to look around.

Everything felt cold.

Numbly, I stood, staggering to the front door. It jiggled. It didn't budge. Locked.

Not surprised. I brought a shaking hand up to my face and breathed in as much of the stale, fake air as I could.

Then I kicked the door open. It didn't fly off it's hinges, disappointingly enough. Oh well.

I stepped out, couldn't feel the warmth of the sun. Not that it was there in the first place.

Now how do I efficiently convey my thoughts on current events?

Fuck. This. _Shit._

I stomped all the way to the sidewalk, where I impatiently tapped my foot on the gravel before making a turn to the left. I could still see the lines where the chalk path once was, smudged out of existence. I also saw the bus coming in from the road, and to that I said, "Fuck no."

And then I went back to the clearing. It took me much longer, given that I could _feel_ things now, but I managed in about half a day. I reached it while my stomach was bitching about the lack of food, looking around and not being surprised at finding goddamn nothing. Like usual.

…Or, that's what I would say if it really went like the usual.

Because instead of finding the usual, I found Phred instead.

He looked just about as pissed off as I was. Not at me, but I couldn't say the same for him.

"And where the fuck have you been?" I spat. Phred, previously mostly staring out into the forest, turned his frosty glare at me.

I glared back, just wanting to focus that pent up twisting in my chest, the sharp sting rolling around in my stomach.

Then he sighed, "Sorry for leaving you alone."

"…Goddammit, Whistler, " I hissed out, low, "You can't just apologize and expect this to just blow over."

Phred barely spared me a glance, "I know. I'm not expecting it to."

He looked down at his palm, and for the first time I saw the small, curious device in his hand. It was stained red. Something clicked inside my head, and my eyes narrowed, "What's that?"

"Can't tell you here," he mumbled back at me, letting his fingers curl over the device in a soft grip, "Gotta go."

"Oh _hell_ no,' I scowled at him, crossing my arms, "You don't get to just apologize, then ditch me again. Apologies don't work that way!"

"It's not safe here," Phred answered, voice getting more and more absent.

I frowned at him, "…Then where is?"

"Somewhere that isn't here," Phred supplied simply, pocketing the device and turning to fully face me. I wishe he didn't, almost. Because then I wouldn't have to see the bleeding stump that was his other arm.

I blanched at the sight, eyes widening.

Phred snorted softly in amusement, "Tried to get out," he gestured towards the dark forest, "Didn't work. Can I take a rain check on that rant you're obviously saving up for me?"

"You're impossible," I sneered, but Phred just half-smiled fondly at me and said, "I'll go play ghost while you try to find me. Deal?"

I opened my mouth to answer, except Phred already walked out on me, soft footsteps fading as he walked out on me, using another dirt path leading away from the forest.

"It's not a deal if you won't even let me disagree, jackass," I mumbled under my breath. But who was I kidding? I was going to go. I didn't have much of a choice.

* * *

"Play ghost."

It was an old term Phred and I used whenever we played hide and seek in the old school.

The old school would be the original Riddle Elementary School, built not too far from where the new one stands, where we met. We used to go there all the time, thinking it was haunted, spending hours on end just chasing each other in the dark in the name of fun.

Looking up at it now, hands in my pockets, it didn't seem so fun a place.

But time's worked like that forever. I walked up the pathway leading to the rotting patio in front of the rotting house on an il-tended lawn. I tried not to let the goosebumps travelling up my arms get to me, because this wasn't anything. Wasn't anything scary, or, or…whatever. It was't anything. I've been here dozens of times before.

I grabbed the door knob and tried to steel myself before turning it and opening the door.

Nothing.

No one was inside. There was only the desolate, dimly lit room that was once a living room without any furniture and busted windows. I let a small sigh escape through my mouth, relieved.

"W-What are you doing here?"

No matter what Zack would say later on, I didn't _scream_.

I may have squealed in decibels I hadn't realized I could reach, but I didn't scream. I also didn't jump half a foot in the air and scrambled away from here with all the grace of a legless chicken.

Because that would be ridiculous.

Zack stared at me, eyes wide.

I stared back,, ignoring the way my heart raced against my chest. I was fine.

"…Hey," I waved a bit,, "Phred did you in with the same bullshit he did to me?"

Zack nodded, slumping to the ground and staring at the floor, "It's not bullshit, though."

"Why not?" I asked, the stirrings of curiosity beginning to start.

Zack shrugged helplessly, bony shoulders lowering, "I don't hear Viz here. Phred as right – we're safe here. We can talk about all the shit they've been doing to us now. We can finally fight back."

* * *

 _ **As usual I greatly appreciate the feedback you guys give me! :D**_

 _ **(And hell yes, it's dark, but no worries, a happy ending is in store!...I think. Maybe.)**_


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